The Heart of the Matter
by rebelxxwaltz
Summary: Vic gives Walt a 'sexy' Valentine's gift. :D Walt/Vic.
1. Chapter 1

_Heya! Here's the first part of a Valentine's Day fic I've been planning for a while. I say planning, because I haven't had much time for actual writing in recent weeks. I'm hoping to have the rest done and posted by tomorrow, but there may be a few days wait depending on time constraints. I figure hey— it still counts as a holiday fic so long as I get part of it up before the actual holiday. ;D_

_Some mature content, but likely nothing beyond a T rating. Hope you all enjoy, and have a happy Valentine's Day! _

**xxxxx**

**The Heart of the Matter  
****Part I**

"What am I supposed to do with these?"

"Uhh, wear them?"

"Wear them _where_?"

"Well, genius, they're boxer shorts. So I would suggest you wear them _inside_ your jeans rather than the other way around, or I might have to arrest you for indecent exposure." Pausing, she appraised him, considering. "Not that I would mind…"

She winked at him and left, office door clicking shut in her wake.

Walt found himself a bit dumbfounded, sitting behind his desk with what could only be described as joke underwear in his hand. He glanced at the offending garment, using both hands to hold the waistband taut. At least they were boxer shorts and not… some other kind of undies that really weren't on his radar.

They were made of some sort of slinky midnight blue material, and they had little hearts and sheriff badges printed all over them. The only thing Walt could seem to wonder was, who _makes_ this stuff? Is this the type of thing people buy on the internet? Furthermore, did Vic really expect him to put these on his body? And _then _what?

Vic and Walt had been on a few dates recently. Things had almost spiraled out of control on the night when they'd finally discovered how they felt about each other, a revelation that had happened entirely by accident at the climax of possibly the worst argument they'd ever had.

He'd been angry at her for being reckless on a call, going in guns blazing before backup arrived and nearly getting herself shot by the robbery suspect she'd eventually wrangled into handcuffs. Walt's deputy had not been the least bit hesitant to label him as a hypocrite and remind him of the numerous times that he himself had run headlong into danger on his own with no regard for the fraught, panicked emotions of those who cared about him.

It was right about that time that the two of them both read between the proverbial lines to get at the heart of the matter— the crippling fear that each of them had felt at the thought of losing the other. After the shouting had ceased, labored breathing and smoldering eye contact had persisted for a long and soundless moment. Then Vic's bottom lip had twitched in _just a certain way_ and Walt had completely lost it, hauling her into his arms and finally kissing her the way he'd imagined in his waking dreams for months.

Through the frenzy of grasping hands and mating tongues Walt could have sworn he felt a shiver run up Vic's spine and right through his palm as he embraced her, enthralled by the press of her body against his own. She made a small, eager sound as her fingers scraped over his stubbled jaw and back to the nape of his neck, adding more credence to the accumulation of clues which led Walt to believe she'd been aching for this just as long as he had.

Soon just kissing didn't seem to be enough, not _nearly_ enough. Walt had backed Vic up against the desk, lifting her onto the edge of it. They began tugging at each other's clothing, and in retrospect Walt was smart enough to thank Mother Nature for the brisk Wyoming winter. If Vic's fingers had grazed the bare skin of his chest instead of just his undershirt as she wrestled with his snaps he might have shot off even through two layers of clothing like an over-adrenalized teenager. The way she had bitten his lip and arched against him had made things hard enough— _difficult_ enough— to keep in check.

His hand had somehow found its way up the back of both her shirts, stroking the smooth skin and trailing along the bottom edge of her ribcage. Their lips had broken apart, eyes locking as one of Vic's booted feet wound around the back of Walt's leg to pull his lower body into the cradle of her thighs. His free hand caressed the side of her face, thumb brushing over her cheek.

She said his name once, nearly inaudible. "Walt." Her hands moved restlessly over his shoulders, blazing a haphazard trail down his chest and torso. Their foreheads pressed together and she said it again, "God, _Walt_—" Pitched slightly higher, breath hot against his mouth. Their lips touched, featherlight, and he had been so ready to surrender to that seductive pull. Her fingers went to his belt buckle and he couldn't stop it, didn't want to, eyes drifting shut as his lips fell onto hers and then—

"Hey Walt? Have you seen what Vic did with the evidence bag from the George Crazymule case? Mathias called and asked for— Oh, HOLY CRAP."

Walt had frozen, entirely thrown by the intrusion, almost unable to wrap his head around the mere existence of Ferg's voice.

"Sorry, I… I'm gonna, uhhh… go and, umm, look for it myself."

Swiftly disengaging from the embrace, Walt turned just in time to see the younger deputy's back retreat through the inconceivably open office door. Everything had happened so fast; it could hardly have been five minutes between the pinnacle of his and Vic's spontaneous argument and the complete and total meltdown of restraint and professionalism that had just occurred in this room. How the hell could they have forgotten that Ferg was on duty and the door was wide open for anyone to walk in?

Vic had looked at him with wide, sparkling eyes, breathing heavily. She was slumped against the desk then, uniform shirt half unbuttoned and gaping crookedly at the neckline with her undershirt rucked up beneath. Her fingers had drifted up to trace across her kiss-swollen lips, eyes flickering briefly down to his mouth as if she was remembering how it had felt on hers.

After a few long moments of awkward intensity, Vic had straightened herself up and cleared her throat. "I better… yeah. I'll help Ferg look for that evidence."

Walt might have thought he'd imagined the entire thing if she hadn't reached out and fleetingly traced her fingertips over the inside of his wrist and the side of his palm as she stalked past and slammed her way into the reading room to gather herself together and get back to her duties.

That had been three weeks ago. Walt had apologized to Ferg, who had shocked him by raising an eyebrow and more or less assuring him that once the initial mortification had worn off the implications of the scene hadn't surprised him in the least. Walt found himself thinking that it might be time to further develop Deputy Ferguson's blossoming investigative skills, because it seemed the younger man had assembled the puzzle before Walt even had all the pieces.

In classic form, Vic and Walt hadn't discussed the incident, but there was a silent acknowledgement that things had changed between them. They had quietly started dating, if you could really call it that. It was more like one of them would say "So… what are you doing after work?" And they'd go somewhere together. Sometimes they'd head out and eat a meal, sitting close and having most of their dinner conversation without words.

Other times they'd end up at one of their houses, pretending they were going to watch a movie or the football game and proceeding to go at it hot and heavy on the sofa for an hour or two instead. They hadn't taken it all the way yet, which seemed to be frazzling both their nerves to some degree, but Walt wanted to do this right and that initial close call at the office had thrown him for a bit of a loop.

It wasn't that he had any desire or intention of concealing how he felt or hiding their growing relationship, but the incident had forced him to give careful consideration to his position as an authority figure, the delicate balance of his work relationship with Vic, and the implications of the out of control raging desire he felt almost every time he looked at her. It was enough to give him pause, to make his racing thoughts flash back to Ferg's interruption each time Vic reached down and tried to breach that familiar barrier at his waistline.

Vaguely wondering what a psychiatrist would make out of the fact that he seemingly thought about Ferg every time Vic tried to unbutton his pants, Walt sighed and shook his head. The underwear Vic had just casually given him were a fairly blatant reminder that Valentine's Day was tomorrow, and Walt was fairly certain she was trying to tell him something. Probably something about wanting to get far enough to actually see these shorts after she removed the rest of what he was wearing.

And he wanted that, oh, did he ever. He had plans, of the "doing things the right way" variety. Give her flowers, take her out to dinner somewhere other than the Red Pony, maybe even open his damn mouth and tell her with words how she made him feel. Then he would take her home and _show_ her… and if these slinky, slightly ridiculous underwear were part of the bargain? He would dutifully wear them.

Mind made up, Walt proceeded through the outer office and bid a slightly early goodnight to his deputies, nodding to Ferg and allowing his eyes to linger on Vic's before giving her a wink- just like the one she had flashed to _him_ earlier- and departing. She was on duty tonight, so there was no danger of jumping the gun and ending up in yet another delightfully compromising situation. Walt could feel her gaze following his form as he exited, anticipation for the most romantic day of the year beginning to bubble in the pit of his stomach…

**xxxxx**

_So, what do you guys think? Will Walt's Valentine's Day go as planned? Will he wear the joke boxers? Will Vic get to have her way with him? We'll check in with Vic in the second half to discover how things pan out…_

_Reviews will be rewarded with heart-shaped chocolate boxes and bubbly! :D_


	2. Chapter 2

_So, okay. Once you guys read this you will most definitely notice that this story still isn't finished. I meant for it to be very short, likely just a two-shot, but it just keeps wanting to get longer! In other words, I am a filthy liar and you should never believe me when I say I'm going to write something short. LOL! This is likely to have two more chapters after this one, and I am a bit less sure now that it will maintain a T-rating through the duration of the story. We shall see!_

_I'm sorry for the initial well-intentioned misinformation, but I'm not sorry for the direction this story chose to take. All the original elements are here, and I'm not sure quite how I thought this was going to fit into two chapters in the first place! I hope you all will be okay with a slightly lengthier story, involving some comedy and romance. :D_

**xxxxx**

**The Heart of the Matter  
****Part II**

Vic sighed, re-examining the paperwork beneath the low light of her desk lamp and wishing that someone, _somewhere_ would commit a crime so that she might get called out of the office. The minutiae of policing, the bureaucracy and the red tape, were such a drag at times. And yet, to be a good cop you had to be willing to put in the research and grind away the hours sifting through records and deciphering deliberately obtuse sheafs of legalese.

George Crazymule was, for lack of a less asshole-ish way of saying it, crazy. A schizophrenic-alcoholic, he was currently in custody with the Tribal Police pursuant to some matters on the Rez. Unfortunately for the Absaroka County Sheriff's Department, he also happened to be the prime suspect in a murder that had recently been committed across the county line in their territory. As much as Vic did love to see Walt squirm, having him at odds with Mathias regarding technicalities and quibbling legal matters really did nothing for his mood.

Walt Longmire's moods were of increasing interest to Vic lately, for a number of reasons not least of which being that she was way more than a little in love with him and simultaneously wanted to fuck him until neither of them could walk. He was a brooding, keep-it-to-yourself type to begin with, so adding an air of general disgruntlement did nothing to increase her chances of taking any aspect of their tentative relationship to the next level.

A knot of worry formed in Vic's stomach as she threw down her pen, unable to fully concentrate. She had been feeling apprehensive ever since that night three weeks ago when the scales of their attraction had finally tipped and shocked them out of the pattern of denial they'd been locked in since well before her husband packed his worldly belongings and headed Down Under.

Things seemed to be going well between them; that first kiss had been explosive, but the ones that followed after were even better— their intentional and private nature had taught Vic's heart to hope where she had started to wonder if there would ever be a chance for them. Walt kissed her like he loved her, if she could profess to even know what that could be like. The way he touched her even on top of the infuriating barrier of her clothing was tender but confident, and the sensation of his generously proportioned endowment rubbing against her heated center through layers of cotton had given Vic a couple moments of blackout pleasure just from pure anticipation of how he would feel inside of her.

She hoped that she hadn't frightened him with her enthusiasm. It was obvious from the way that he repeatedly engaged with her that the attraction was mutual, that he didn't think what they were doing was a mistake. But every time she tried to push the envelope and take that final step, he retreated like a skittish animal. Walt kept telling her that he just wanted to take things slow, but it was a bit off-putting. Never in Vic's life had a man been so reluctant to have her hand down his pants. And while she didn't want to pressure him, her confidence was beginning to fail her. Vic needed some reassurance.

The boxer shorts she'd given to Walt (and hadn't the look on his face been _so worth it_?) were meant to convey two messages.

First, that everything didn't need to be so serious, that they could be sexy and playful and have a physical relationship without the world coming to an end. She wasn't expecting him to declare his undying love just because they went to bed together— sure, that was something that she hoped for down the line, maybe if she were very lucky, but she could be patient.

The second purpose that she'd wished to accomplish? Much simpler. It was to say, "I want to see you in these silky little shorts, you hunk," without the awkwardness of actually trying to put it into words. I mean… did people really _say_ that stuff? So much for the language of love…

The phone rang. Thank _Christ_, she thought to herself. The clock read 3:45am, otherwise known as the dead of night, and the crimes that happened at that hour were inevitably either false alarm fluff or serious as a heart attack. She set her jaw.

"Sheriff's Department, Deputy Moretti…"

**x**

His sleep had been unsettled, full of distorted visions of blonde hair and creamy skin amidst the discordant swirling of hearts and cartoon sheriff badges.

It must have been merely the duration of his slumber that left Walt feeling surprisingly rested; upon encountering himself in the mirror pre-toothbrush he was relieved to find that he looked about as fresh-faced as a slightly lovesick 50-ish cowboy possibly could. Day and a half of beard aside, anyway. Perhaps the highly anticipated romantic occasion warranted a legitimate shave.

After showering and reluctantly applying the razor to his habitual stubble, Walt emerged into the bedroom and faced down his latest nemesis— the mildly scandalous novelty underwear so enthusiastically provided to him by Vic. As a rule, men like Walt just didn't _wear_ things like that. But this man was going to. Walt wasn't sure what the day might bring, if he would have time to come home and change before hopefully whisking Vic off to dinner and all that he hoped would go along with it, so not only was he going to wear them, he was going to wear them… _now_.

Removing the final barrier of comfort provided by his sturdy white bath towel, Walt stood in front of the dresser, naked as the day he was born. He narrowed his eyes at the shorts as lingering drops of moisture slowly evaporated from the surface of his skin. Employing a brilliant delay tactic, Walt used the towel, still in his hand, to ruffle some of the excess water out of his hair. This served a dual purpose of making his head drier _and_ hiding the garishly printed boxers from his vision for a few blissful moments. Using both hands, Walt rubbed his face with the towel, pressing the terry cloth over his eye sockets and gathering his strength before withdrawing it from his head and finally setting it aside.

He set aside his hang-ups along with it, reaching for the silky boxer shorts and quickly stepping into them. Pulling the material up his legs, Walt spent a few long moments adjusting the waistband. These were certainly shorter than his usual cotton boxer briefs, so he wasn't quite sure where they should sit on his waist. At least they weren't too tight. Just… satiny and a bit form-fitting. Once he was done… adjusting things, he put his hands on his hips and looked down at himself. Strangely, he felt more naked than he had a few moments ago with not a stitch covering him, if that were possible.

_Well, _Walt thought to himself, a vague echo of John Wayne— or had it been John Steinbeck?— tickling his brain. _A man's got to do what a man's got to do. _He finished dressing and got on with the rest of his morning routine, squirming slightly as he waited for his coffee to steep and he tried to get used to the very different way that these underwear felt beneath the denim of his newest blue jeans. Things were now set in motion which could not be undone, and Walt hoped it would all prove worth it in the end.

An hour or so later, Walt marched into the station. He ignored the slight flutter in his stomach at the sight of Vic's empty desk. She would have gone off duty when Ruby arrived to man the phones, so hopefully she was home getting some shut-eye. He'd arranged to have flowers delivered to her in the early afternoon, an assortment he'd chosen himself that he was confident Vic would like. She'd made off-hand comments about flowers in the past; her dislike of carnations, her preference for bold reds and oranges as opposed to softer pinks and purples. He had been listening, and Martha had taught him a thing or two about the language of flowers over the years. He'd been listening then, too.

Ruby gave a small wave as Walt hung his hat and coat on the rack. "Good Morning, Walter."

"Mornin' Ruby. Any messages?"

The older woman raised her eyebrow in a gesture Walt had come to understand as 'brace yourself for bad news, Walter,' tilting her head to the side and releasing a huff of breath. "Well. Mathias already called, and…"

Mathias. Wonderful. For a moment Walt felt sure he was channelling Deputy Moretti herself, because the urge to execute an Olympic-grade eye-roll was almost too difficult to resist. Most of his worst days lately seemed to start with the phrase 'Mathias called.' Focusing in on Ruby's explanation, Walt hoped against hope that today would fall outside of that particular pattern…

**xxxxx**

_Well, looks like Walt took the plunge and donned the sexy undies! Will his day be ruined by Mathias? What kind of call did Vic end up taking in the middle of the night? Will her flowers arrive safely? Drop me a review and tell me your theories, I love hearing them!_


	3. Chapter 3

This story seems determined to tell itself in shorter chapters than is normal for me, so here is another installment! How will Walt and Vic spend their Valentine's Day? Read on to find out…

There's a tiny bit of mature content in this chapter, just to let you know, mainly due to Vic's dirty mind. :)

**xxxxx**

**The Heart of the Matter  
****Part III**

If there was one thing that Vic had learned over these past three years as a deputy, it was that the little old ladies of Absaroka County most definitely loved them some Walt Longmire.

Not that she could blame them, of course. But if she were perfectly honest, after being called out to widow Fletcher's farm at four o'clock in the morning because the lady of the house was absolutely certain she'd seen a burglar and said burglar was undoubtedly hiding in the hay loft, the last thing Vic wanted to do after investigating said hay loft was sit in the kitchen and drink tea while the old woman nattered on about how handsome and fabulous Walt was. As if she didn't already know.

"…always was sweet, even when he was a young fella. Never said much, but I could tell. Last time he came out, that was before my Harold passed away, he brought back our stolen horse! Well, he said Old Jack had just wandered out of his pen, but I'm _sure_ I saw a man in a ski mask out by the edge of the field earlier that day."

Vic had nodded and smiled, feeling like one of those bobbleheads that guys like Ferg usually had on their dashboards and thinking about how much paperwork she still needed to fill out despite the pointlessness of this call.

"Walter was so good with that horse, so gentle. There's just something about men and horses, isn't there? Why if I were thirty years younger… well!" She'd giggled the giggle that all old ladies have when they think they've said something a bit naughty, then reached over and patted Vic's hand. "Anyway. What about you, dear? I don't see a wedding ring! Have you got a young man in your life? It's Valentine's Day after all…"

How was she supposed to answer _that_? Vic didn't think that anyone in their right mind could look at Walt and refer to him as a 'young man,' although old Mrs. Fletcher probably thought of anyone younger than 70 in those terms. It was surprising, how confused she found herself by such an innocuous question. It was weird, thinking about Walt like he was her… sweetheart? Like they should be holding hands and reading each other the dumb ass sayings on those chalky, gross candy hearts. WILL U B MINE? _Too late, cowboy, I__'__ve already been yours for a long time._

Her thoughts about Walt were usually so visceral, so powerfully physical, but now that they had started down some sort of relationship road together Vic found that she wanted the other stuff, too. She _wanted_ the hand-holding and the romance and the kisses in the rain just as much as she wanted that raucous, sweaty, intense sexual connection that she was a bit more comfortable thinking about.

Vic had felt her face turning red as Mrs. Fletcher smiled over at her, awaiting a response.

"Yeah," she'd found herself saying, "I think I do."

As soon as Vic was done with the annoyingly necessary paperwork, in perfect sync with Ruby's timely arrival at the station just before 7am, she'd taken herself off home for a hot shower and a date with her invitingly cozy bed. It was now officially her day off, and she was determined to get some sleep so that she'd be rested up for whatever it was Walt had planned for later.

Oh yeah, she'd seen that little wink he'd thrown her way last night. And it hadn't escaped her notice that he'd made sure both their schedules were clear even though he ordinarily took the evening shift on Saturdays. And if she'd misread the signs and Walt wasn't planning for romance? Well, Vic had some newly-purchased lacy red underthings in a pink bag on her dresser. Walt _did_ seem a bit oblivious at times, so if he left her no choice she would simply take the Valentine's party to him and spice things up a bit.

Sleep was patchy and elusive for the next several hours, with Vic's mind swirling around the possibilities and contemplating the eye candy potential if she could actually convince Walt to put on those novelty boxers she'd given him. Half-dreaming, Vic allowed the images to dance through her subconscious. She had a vision of Walt standing in front of her, no shirt, in fact wearing nothing but those silky underwear and, oddly enough, his hat. In the grand tradition of messed-up dreams, one of those tacky heart-shaped beds that you would expect to find in a motel that performs Elvis weddings suddenly appeared next to them.

Vic imagined herself pressing up against Walt, feeling his satin-encased erection nudging against her hipbone as she removed his hat and tossed it brim up onto the bed. They would kiss, slow and dirty, and then he'd suddenly spin her around so that her back was pressed against the warmth of his chest and solid torso. She imagined how Walt's hands would feel, sliding up to mold over her breasts through the red lace of her bra. He'd notice that the bra had a front closure— Walt always noticed everything. Vic could hardly wait to find out what those big, capable hands could do once they found access to bare skin.

After that he would kiss her neck, exploring her breasts and teasing her sensitized nipples with one hand while the other would slide down, into her skimpy lace panties, finding the wet heat where all her fantasies converged. She imagined that he would whisper deep, honeyed words against the shell of her ear while he used his hands to work her into a lustful frenzy. Vic would be almost too distracted to remember how badly she wanted to reach back, grasp the hard evidence of his mutual arousal and work him until they were both breathless and groaning, desperate to be joined. Then she'd push him back onto the bed, drag those alluring boxers down his long, muscular legs, and— _and then__—_

Apparently then the phone would ring, startling Vic out of her dream and displaying the number at the station. The screen told her that it was now just past noon as she picked up to answer, and she held onto the futile hope that it was just Walt calling to wish her a happy Valentine's Day right up until the moment she heard Ruby's voice on the other end of the line. So much for the long, uninterrupted sleep she'd been hoping for…

**x**

If anyone had told Walt five hours ago that he would end up spending his morning hunkered down behind his Bronco because a crazy man was trying to shoot him, yet _again_, he might have had Ruby call Mathias back and tell him to take his transfer of custody and stick it where the sun don't shine.

As it was he found himself crouched down behind the truck where it was parked out in front of the B.I.A. substation, Mathias to his left, wondering exactly how it was that one of the tribal police chief's subordinates had been careless enough to allow George Crazymule to snatch the gun right out of his holster. Mathias hadn't given much by way of an explanation, approaching Walt's inquiry with the same glib, non-committal brand of response that he used for practically everything.

"Maynard's a rookie. Wasn't expecting an old drunk like George to have such fast hands." Mathias shrugged, trying to peek around the back of the vehicle only to be met with the sound of more gunfire.

Walt frowned, fingers tightening around his sidearm. "Why would you let a green recruit handle the transfer of a dangerous criminal in the first place?"

"He wasn't _handling_ it, he was just helping. Most of my guys wanted the day off to spend with their lady friends, sheriff. It's only me and Maynard on duty until the overnight shift."

Great, just great. Now what should have been a by the books custody transfer had turned into what was essentially a hostage situation. As far as Walt understood the lay of the land, Crazymule had locked young Maynard in his own vacated jail cell after commandeering the officer's handgun, and was now taking pot shots at Walt and Mathias in hopes of avoiding transfer to Absaroka County where he might face charges far more serious than anything the Cheyenne Tribal Police had on him. Up until now, anyway…

Walt had radioed in to Ruby and asked her to send the Ferg out for backup, figuring with three people on the outside they might be able to work their way back into the building through another entrance and hopefully catch the suspect by surprise or at the very least flush him out.

Surprises were apparently the order of the day, as Walt received one of his own fifteen minutes later when backup arrived, but not in the form of Ferg and his Trans Am as Walt had been expecting. Vic's truck rolled up, wheels kicking up dust as she screeched to a stop and poured herself out the driver's side door in a fluid movement. As her boots hit the ground, Walt and Mathias motioned for her to get down. Crazymule fired off a warning shot just to reinforce the message.

Vic bent her knees and leaned her back against the side of the Bronco on Walt's right side. "Shit, what the hell is going on here?"

He peered over at her, trying not to admire the way her ponytail bounced or how her jeans hugged the curve of her thigh where it bent toward the junction of her hip. The fact that he was allowing himself to be distracted by such thoughts under the circumstances made Walt a bit angry with himself, and his greeting came over a fair sight more gruff than he'd intended. "What are you doin' here? Where's Ferg?"

"Well. A sunny fantastic good afternoon to you, too."

Walt winced. He could actually _taste_ the sarcasm.

"Ferg was out on a domestic. Ruby said you really needed backup, so she called me in. On my day off. After four lousy hours of sleep."

He had the good sense to be contrite. "Sorry. If I'd realized Ferg was out I would have told Ruby to leave you be. We could have managed." She didn't look well-rested, and Walt had a private moment of panic when he realized that now that she was here with him she would not be home to receive the flower delivery he had arranged.

"So what, I'm surplus to requirements? I'll be happy to go home and back to bed if you don't need me here."

This day was definitely not going as planned. Walt only just managed not to release a heavy sigh. "That isn't what I meant at all. Of course I need you."

Vic raised an eyebrow, and Walt could have sworn there was a twinkle in her eye. Before he had time to investigate further, however, Mathias huffed in annoyance. Walt had almost forgotten that the other man was even there.

"Will you two either button it or get a room? I don't want to hide behind this truck all damn day."

At that, Vic finally graced him with a full-fledged smile. There was nothing like pissing off Mathias to improve his deputy's mood, it seemed. "Okay, so what have we got?"

**xxxxx**

Well, doesn't this look like a fun way to spend Valentine's Day? Walt and Vic even have Mathias along to chaperone their policing date. Haha! Another chapter should be along in a few days; a big thanks to everyone who has stopped in to leave a comment. I love hearing your thoughts about the story, so keep them coming! :D


	4. Chapter 4

_Hey all, here I am with yet another installment of the never-ending Valentine's Day story. It insists on being written in these weird short-ish chapters; still, we are getting there slowly but surely._

_In this chapter, Walt and Vic enjoy some romantic alone time while hiding behind the Bronco. Haha! _

**xxxxx**

**The Heart of the Matter  
****Part IV**

Vic peered at Walt out of the corner of her eye. Mathias had left them to see if he could sneak his way around to the back of the building without being seen by the armed fugitive inside. The lack of gunfire indicated that he had likely been successful, so far.

Something about Walt was different. Vic turned her head to look at him more fully, gaze fixing on the familiar edge of his jaw.

"Oh my God, did you… _shave_?"

Walt looked at the ground, forearms resting atop his thighs near the bends in his knees. Vic could swear she saw the corner of his mouth quirk into the ghost of a smile.

"Yep."

Apparently that was the extent of Walt's commentary on the issue. His face was the smoothest she had ever seen it; not even for the court appearances he was occasionally required to attend had she seen him shave so meticulously. If he'd done this for her, she supposed it would be wise to wait for a while before telling him she actually _liked _him with stubble. It gave him an air of rugged sexiness, and she loved the way it felt beneath her hands. Not to mention the imagining of how it might feel in certain… other places. She nearly blushed just thinking about it, but fortunately Walt still wasn't looking her way.

A gust of wind ruffled its way past and Vic realized that there was one small but important benefit to Walt's sudden enthusiasm for grooming. _Shit__… __aftershave. _She inhaled deeply in tandem with the fluttering breeze. It was woodsy and leathery, which basically equated to a dose of concentrated Walt, with just a hint of something sharp and succulent— bergamot, maybe? That was one of those manly citrus scents, wasn't it? Vic's thoughts scattered a bit, eyes fixing on the slightly open collar of Walt's shirt and considering the bright carnival of sensory pleasures she might find just by burying her face against his neck.

Walt must have sensed her gaze still burning his skin, because he turned slightly and finally met her eyes with his. It was a crisp and cold grey day, and the drab, monotone surroundings seemed to make his irises shine extra blue. Those piercing eyes flickered briefly down to Vic's lips and then back up again with an expression of heated longing that had her about a microsecond away from tackling him onto the gravel next to the Bronco's right front tire and kissing him into next week.

Her phone vibrated, breaking the sensual trance. It was a text from Mathias, who had apparently managed to pry open his office window just wide enough to squeeze his skinny body back into the building. Now there was just one unlocked door between Mathias and a hopefully distracted Crazymule, who was likely low on ammo and running out of options.

The fantasies would have to wait— it was time to get down to business.

**x**

It amazed Walt how swiftly his deputy was able to switch gears into total badass mode when she'd been giving him that soft, curious, unintentionally seductive look only moments ago. Vic's expression had been full of wistful hunger, something so similar to what he felt himself, and it made Walt want to reach out and stroke her smooth cheek with the backs of his knuckles and tell her about all the things she made him feel; the feelings of a man in love, a man who desired her beyond the boundaries of reason. Sure, crouched behind a truck shielding themselves from the whims of a schizophrenic gunman probably wasn't an appropriate locale for romance, but he hadn't even managed to wish her a happy Valentine's Day. Could he get any more pathetic?

Vic's professionalism, although Walt admired and respected it, was almost a shock to the system. Perhaps he just wasn't as skilled as she was when it came to keeping business separate from pleasure or making sure his private feelings didn't affect his work— it was something he would need to practice up on, if their relationship continued to evolve the way he hoped it would.

As Vic relayed the information coming back from Mathias, Walt couldn't help but be reminded of that long ago moment in Arizona, another time where he'd nearly let his guard slip and might have allowed his passionate impulses to overrule logic. Vic had brought him back down to earth that time too, without even knowing it, and Walt still found himself short of breath sometimes late at night when he thought about what he'd secretly wished to find behind that connecting door.

It was pretty similar to what he still hoped to find with Vic later tonight, if they both managed to escape this situation without getting popped full of bullets. Couldn't they ever have just one normal, peaceful day?

"…so he says he'll lay low for a while and then give us the signal two minutes before he goes in. Hopefully it'll be smooth sailing after that— are you even listening to me?"

Half of him had been. The other half had been thinking about having those toned legs of hers wrapped around his waist, without the pesky encumbrance of tight denim, as he pressed her into the mattress.

"Yep."

That won him another eye roll. "Great. Are you gonna say anything other than 'Yep' today or is that all I'm getting?"

"Sorry." He leaned toward her just slightly, nodding at the cellphone in her hand. For once Walt was thankful for text messaging, a means of communication he ordinarily understood as a tool for the degradation of the English language. Today, it was allowing them to craft their plan with stealth. "So we wait for the signal and hope Mathias catches him by surprise?"

Vic nodded. "It should work; his attention is still focused here outside."

"We probably ought to do something to make sure it stays that way. Otherwise Crazymule could gain another hostage, or worse." Walt avoided suggesting that Mathias might get shot, on the off chance that Vic would wholeheartedly endorse the option.

"What, like the old hat-on-a-stick trick?" She gave a cute snort of laughter.

Walt shifted the bulk of his weight from one bent leg to the other. His knees weren't happy about the extended workout they were getting. "We're a bit short on options. Got the hat, not the stick." Pondering, he wondered whether Vic might actually be onto something. He tapped the passenger door of the Bronco with the back of his right hand. "I've got one of those extendable snow brushes behind the seat in here. Should be able to grab it if we're careful."

She gave him the familiar, incredulous, 'Are you shitting me?' look he'd come to know and love.

"…You're serious?"

"Can't hurt to give George something to shoot at. Might let Mathias have a fighting chance to sneak up and disarm him."

One of her eyebrows arched, head tilting to the side.

He mirrored her, raising an eyebrow of his own. "Got a problem with my plan?"

"Other than the fact that I feel like I just fell through a portal into some sort of _Andy Griffith Show _nightmare? Not at all."

Shrugging, Vic shimmied past Walt and carefully reached up to crack open the door to the vehicle. She spotted the snow brush through the gap between the doorframe and the passenger seat, resting on the bed of the truck just behind the center console.

"Can you reach it?"

"I think so…"

There were some minor contortions involved in Vic's attempts to obtain the item without the need to adjust or climb over the seat, and Walt would have been a liar if he said he wasn't enjoying the show. With her arm reaching inside the truck, one leg bent forward and the other stretched behind, Walt had a close-up view of—

"Are you staring at my ass?"

_Busted. _He cleared his throat. "Yep."

Vic shifted backward, extracting her arm from the vehicle and brandishing the snow brush with a sultry smile. She pointed the ice scraper threateningly in Walt's direction. "Back to that again, huh? I hope you're still feeling this… _cooperative_ later tonight."

Grinning, Walt absently enjoyed the sensation of Vic's arm pressing against his own as they crouched behind the truck. "I uhm—"

A wisp of blonde hair escaped from her ponytail and he couldn't stop himself from reaching out to tuck it behind her ear. Vic's eyes widened, a pleasing pink tinge coloring her cheeks as his fingers slowly drew away from the skin behind her earlobe.

"Speaking of tonight…"

She regarded him attentively. "Yeah? What about it?"

Walt fidgeted, realizing that it had been almost thirty years since he'd asked a woman out on a date. It seemed as though he shouldn't be nervous, not after the last few weeks of himself and Vic casually seeing each other outside of work and less than casually making out like teenagers nearly every night they were both off duty. He'd gone out with Lizzie a couple times, but they'd never felt like real dates… maybe because she'd done the asking? _This_ felt real, though. Walt took a deep breath, trying not to make it too obvious that he'd needed to, and continued.

"Well, it's Valentine's Day. So I thought—"

"Yes."

"—maybe you'd like to—"

He paused, peering over at her. She bit her lip, a mischievous smile lighting her eyes.

"What do you mean, 'Yes'?"

Her face leaned a bit closer to his. "I'm accepting your invitation."

One of Walt's hands flexed and curled atop his denim-clad thigh. "You don't even know what I was going to ask you."

"Were you going to ask me to join you for Traffic Court?"

"Nope. No Traffic Court on Saturdays, you know that." Walt felt the corners of his mouth turning upward, forming a smile he could barely keep under wraps.

Vic tapped a finger against her lips in an exaggerated gesture of thoughtfulness. "Hmm, okay. Let me guess. There's a Valentine's dance at the retirement home and you want me to go boogie down with Lucian?"

Walt released a chuckle, contemplating that particular scenario. "Nope."

"That's a shame. At least I know he likes my tits."

Allowing his eyes to wander downward, Walt swallowed heavily. "So do I."

Her expression of mirth was underpinned with a slow smolder and a slightly husky edge to her voice. "Well then, it looks like you've got yourself a date."

They stared at each other for a long moment. The eye contact was broken by each of them simultaneously, as though the intensity had just become too much. Walt shifted his hand, cautiously running the edge of his pinky finger along the outside seam on the leg of Vic's jeans near her knee.

"Pick you up at seven?"

The phone vibrated in Vic's pocket, presumably the signal from Mathias. "Better make it eight. I have a feeling this day is gonna cause a shitstorm of paperwork."

**xxxxx**

_Well, this isn't how Walt and Vic expected to spend their Valentine's Day, but at least they're together. Right? LOL And oooh, they've got a date! Remember, there's still the matter of Walt's sexy undies to *ahem* get into, and what ever happened to Vic's flowers anyway?_

_All this and more in the concluding chapters to come! Thanks for sticking with this ever-growing little story. :D_


	5. Chapter 5

_Heya! Here is a nice double-sized chapter, containing numerous types of action. ;D_

_With luck, the next bit should be along early next week— only a couple chapters left to go now! Bit of slightly mature content in the second half of this, in case anyone actually needs a warning for that…_

**xxxxx**

**The Heart of the Matter  
****Part V**

They worked together to adjust the snow brush to its longest setting and perch Walt's hat on the bristly end. Vic resisted the urge to smile stupidly as she looked at him; his hair had that hat-smushed appearance which made her long to reach over and ruffle her fingers through those surprisingly luxurious locks to fluff them back up. Too bad they had a job to do.

"Are you sure about this? What if he shoots your hat?" Vic knew how Walt felt about that hat. Highly affectionate, extremely attached, perhaps even a bit over-protective… if she had it in her to feel jealous of an inanimate object, it would be an excellent candidate. That man would go to hell and back to keep his hat perched on his head where it belonged.

Walt made an unconcerned face, reaching up to muss his own hair as another gust of wind swept through. "His aim isn't all that good. I'm not worried about it."

"Suit yourself." She'd volunteered for stick-holding duty, although this wasn't the weapon she _really _wanted to get her hands on, and she was keeping a close watch on the clock. Mathias would be making his move in approximately thirty seconds.

Peering at his hat with narrowed eyes, Walt relented just slightly. "Still… no need to give him a stationary target. Make sure you jiggle it around a bit."

Vic snorted. "That's what _she_ said."

He gave her a tight smile, which seemed to convey that he was experiencing the same struggle that she was with the combination of adrenaline and innuendo that the situation was providing. Vic didn't mean to add fuel to the fire, but the day she passed up an opening as wide as that she'd probably be cold in her grave.

The alarm on her cellphone chirped, signaling that it was time to begin their distraction. "Okay, here we go…"

Crouching down next to the tire, Vic raised Walt's hat up into the air on its snow brush perch. She tried to simulate Walt's approximate height, which was difficult to gauge from her current vantage. She attempted to bop the hat along to look like someone walking, and—

_BAM BAM!_

There was a muffled high-pitched tearing sound that accompanied the burst of gunfire, and Vic hunkered down as the hat spun rapidly on its perch.

"Shit—"

Lowering the snow brush, Vic barely had time to register the jagged ding left in the brim of Walt's hat by the swiftly grazing bullet before a cacophony of shouts, bangs, and muffled cursing emanated from within the tribal police station. She and Walt both jumped up at the sound of Mathias yelling that he had the weapon, and they dashed toward the front of the building.

Before they could make it very far, George Crazymule came barreling from the entrance like a bat out of hell, Mathias hot on his heels and Maynard not far behind. Walt course-corrected, planting himself squarely in the escaping suspect's path. Vic looked on with trepidation; Walt was a big guy, but Crazymule was no shy violet himself. He was six-foot-something and evidently not in bad shape for a reputed alcohol abuser.

Everything after that happened all at once. Crazymule crashed into Walt, who appeared to have hit a patch of indecision and ended up having his half-drawn gun knocked clear out of his hand. Thrown by the force of the impact, Walt just barely lost the battle between his own bulk and the other man's momentum. The two fell to the ground in a flurry of dust and flailing limbs, and began to wrestle. Mathias stopped short, seemingly at a loss, handgun at the ready but pointed away from the tussle. Young Maynard waved his arms, features awash in panic.

"Uncle George, no!"

Vic's jaw dropped. "_Uncle_ George?! What the fu—"

Her exclamation seemed to inform the younger man of his slip-up, and he took several rapid strides toward her. Vic reached for her sidearm, being as she was heavily disinterested in getting punched in the face _again_. She couldn't quite remember if 'My Bloody Valentine' was a band or a movie, but she was pretty sure it sucked either way. Maynard spotted Walt's Colt on the ground between them, features hardening as he lunged downward to grab it.

Before Vic had a chance to pull her weapon, Mathias swiveled around with narrowed eyes and pointed his own gun at the younger man. "Maynard, what the hell are you doing? Leave it."

Maynard froze, raising his hands in the air and slowly turning toward his superior officer.

While the two tribal policemen were preoccupied with each other, Vic turned her attention back to the tussle that was going on just a few feet away. Walt appeared to have gained the upper hand as the two men continued to scramble and throw punches, kicking up dust. Their positions had reversed, with Walt now on top of the other man effectively pinning him to the gravel-strewn ground. Crazymule clutched at Walt's back, wiggling his legs and trying to gain some leverage. He yanked at Walt's jacket, simultaneously tugging at the shirt beneath and pulling sideways to try to throw Walt off balance.

As Walt stretched upward to knock the man's arms away the back of his shirt came untucked from his pants, jacket rucked up to expose his belt line. A patch of skin was visible, and Vic's eyes traitorously slid downward in hopes of seeing how these pugilistic contortions may have stretched the normally loose denim over Walt's hidden assets. What she saw instead nearly had her swooning on the spot, which was _not_ a sensation Vic was accustomed to.

Peeking out from the top of Walt's jeans was a familiar, slinky, midnight blue waistband. She didn't even need to squint to see a perky red heart and one corner of a sheriff's star just climbing over the edge of the denim. She tried her hardest not to think of that old rhyme from her childhood— _I see London, I see France__…_

Vic attempted to control her breathing and _not_ hyperventilate, suddenly blessed with the secret knowledge that Walt Longmire was wearing the sexy underwear that she had given him. Vic nearly released a manic giggle. She definitely hadn't expected him to wear those _to work!_ They were fully, entirely intended for playtime— perhaps she should have made that clearer. But this? This was even better. Now that she knew he'd worn them, she knew that he was ready for her. It was enough to send a shiver down her spine.

As Walt used his bulk to overpower the suspect, knees on either side of the other man's legs, Vic was overwhelmed with a wild urge to switch places with George Crazymule. She'd be happy to feel the heat generated by the struggle rolling off Walt's body, would gladly let him pin her wrists to the dusty ground with those big hands of his. Maybe she was the crazy one after all…?

Walt shifted, victorious in the scuffle. Vic gave herself a mental shake, hurrying forward to supply a ready set of handcuffs to help seal the deal. Dirty and disheveled, Walt held the subdued Crazymule by the arm and began leading him toward the Bronco.

"Was all this necessary? You're just making it worse for yourself."

Crazymule grunted. Vic cringed, registering the depth of irritation in Walt's tone.

"Now wait just a second…"

_Oh Mathias. Don't pick now to get clever. Just… don't. _

Walt paused. "What?"

Mathias had lowered his weapon, while Maynard stood to the side looking despondent.

"I can't let you take him now, not after what just happened."

Glaring, Walt let go of Crazymule's arm and put his hands on his hips. "Excuse me? He tried to kill us!"

"Yeah, on Rez property. He's going to have to answer for that."

Walt bent down, retrieving a familiar object from the ground. "He _shot my hat!_"

Mathias made a face. "My heart bleeds. I can't release him to you after he just committed such a serious crime here."

Biting his lip, Walt looked about ready to take a swing at Mathias. Vic seized the opportunity to intercede.

"I hope you're going to lock officer Maynard right up along with him, since he was nice enough to lend his duty weapon to dear old _Uncle George_."

Everyone looked at Maynard.

The young man put his hands out in front of him. "I— I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt, I just wanted to keep Uncle George on the Rez!"

Mathias looked askance at the rookie officer. "You've got to be kidding me. You _gave_ a gun to this psychopath?"

Vic saw that Walt was looking at her out of the corner of his eye. She gave a small grin. "Wow, Mathias. Sounds like you're going to have a lot of paperwork to fill out! Didn't you say you and Maynard were the only ones on duty until after midnight? Have fun with that…" She spun on her heel.

Depositing Crazymule next to his nephew, Walt shoved the slightly damaged hat onto his head and silently followed.

"Hold on. You can't just leave me holding the bag like this. Walt!"

Vic tried and failed not to find it sexy, the way Walt growled his response.

"Your Rez, your problem. Isn't that right, Mathias?"

Sheriff and deputy stalked away, side by side. They paused as they reached the driver's side of the Bronco, observing the numerous bullet holes.

"Shit, Walt. The son of a bitch even shot your tires."

Walt frowned deeply, observing the damage to his vehicle. "Mathias! You owe me some new tires!"

"You'd better ride back with me," Vic suggested. "We can send the tow truck over or come back later. I don't know about you, but I've had it with this place."

Briefly making eye contact, Walt nodded in agreement.

**x**

Walt tapped his fingers against his denim-covered leg in agitation. He wasn't used to being the passenger— the fact that his truck had been shot up yet _again_ was weighing on his mind, and not being in the driver's seat simply enhanced the feelings of powerlessness presented by the entire situation. Leaving Mathias with a huge mess to clean up was some consolation, but Walt was still displeased with the overall outcome.

He peeked over at Vic, who was steering them along at a fair clip and wearing what appeared to be a neutral expression. She didn't seem to be too ticked at him for ruining her day off, which was a relief. With any luck, he would still have time to make it up to her. He'd certainly have less paperwork to slog through without Crazymule in custody…

The vehicle slowed abruptly, and Walt's eyebrows knit in confusion as they pulled off the road.

"What are you doing?"

Vic smiled absently. "Pulling into the mile 17 speed trap."

"Why?"

"Well, it _is_ my favorite speed trap in all of Absaroka County."

It was a very nice speed trap. It was even next to a stream, hidden from the road by a shallow embankment. All in all not a bad spot to hang out if you found yourself stuck working radar, which could be an extremely dull task at times. But why were they here now?

"Shouldn't we be getting back to the station?"

"Nope."

He supposed he couldn't fault her for giving him a taste of his own medicine.

The truck rolled to a stop and Vic cut the engine. Removing her seat belt, she shrugged out of her duty jacket and tossed it into the recessed area behind their seats. Walt watched her, curious, right up until the moment when she climbed across the center console and into his lap.

_Oh. _

Walt froze, enthralled by her nearness and the warm press of the insides of her thighs against the outsides of his own. She bent in, looking slightly predatory, depressing the button to release his seat belt and allowing it to spring back to its resting position. Her breath tickled the shell of his ear.

"I know what you're wearing under those jeans, tough guy. And I can't promise not to jump your bones in front of Ruby and Ferg if I don't get a sneak preview right now."

His hands shot to her waist, fingers spreading out for maximum coverage as she slid even closer. How did she know…? Damn, they must have been showing while he was wrestling with Crazymule. Walt swallowed heavily, tamping down his embarrassment as Vic removed his hat and tossed it on top of her jacket. She ran her fingers through his hair before sliding both hands onto the uncommonly smooth surface of his face. Her eyes sparkled down at him as she leaned in, pressing her lips against his own with surprising gentleness.

These tender movements caught Walt off guard after the aggressive nature of Vic's initial approach. He'd been ready to meet her passion with his own, his lingering anger and the adrenaline from the fight coursing through him. His instincts told him to channel that wild energy into Vic, lose himself in her, let them have what he knew they both wanted. Her kiss changed that— it was soft and affectionate, thrillingly incongruous coming from his hard-as-nails deputy.

She ran her tongue along the seam of his lips, pressing forward and dragging her hands down his neck to rest on his shoulders. Walt tilted his head sideways, granting Vic easier access to his mouth as she pulled on his bottom lip with her teeth and deepened the contact. His hands moved of their own accord, one traveling up to the back of Vic's neck while the other slid downward to the seat of her jeans and pulled her in against him. She broke the kiss with a sharply indrawn breath.

Slipping her fingers into the unfastened front of his jacket and tracing them over the slightly open collar of his shirt, Vic smiled with her lips brushing against his. "Happy Valentine's Day…"

A groan erupted from Walt's throat, slightly muffled as their mouths molded together once more. He was torn between the desire to return Vic's sentiment and his need to show her how much he wanted her, a fact that would become abundantly clear if she squirmed any further into his lap. Her hands had tugged a couple more snaps of his shirt open, and Walt was reminded of that day in his office three weeks ago where he'd kissed her for the first time. He'd been so nervous at the idea of feeling her hands on his bare chest, but oh, how he'd longed for it just the same. He shivered now at the sensation of her fingernails scraping lightly over the skin just beneath his collarbones and dragging lower.

It wasn't that they hadn't touched each other on their 'dates' over the past weeks; they'd had numerous sessions of exploratory grappling that left them both breathless, but Walt had been able to keep a tight hold on his control in part because of his very specific ideas about the way these things should be done. Now, though? So close to the finish line where his intentions would be validated through the proper romantic gestures, Walt was beginning to question whether waiting really had been the right thing to do. God, he wanted her. And Vic clearly wanted him, enough to kidnap him to a speed trap and leave him with nowhere to run— as if he'd try. Had he been driving them both to distraction for no good reason?

When their lips broke apart again Walt noticed that he had pulled Vic's hair loose from its ponytail. Her lips were pink and swollen from the kisses they'd shared, slightly parted, infinitely tempting. She moved her hands, resting them both on the seat behind his shoulders and shifting slightly so that she hovered a bit higher above him. Waves of blonde hair framed her face.

"Unbutton my shirt."

Walt was in a bit of a daze, initially unable to process her command. "What?"

Vic reached down and grasped both his hands, repositioning them at the front of her uniform shirt. He hesitated, fingers a bit shaky, but she arched into him as he slowly unfastened the buttons to reveal creamy skin and—

"Whoa." It was said in a low mumble, almost to himself, but he knew she heard.

Hiding beneath Vic's drab khaki-colored blouse was a confection of scarlet lace that managed to enhance her assets while barely covering them. The bra was cut low, pushing things up from beneath and teasing his vision with scalloped edges that fluttered at the swell of her breasts. Her chest rose and fell in time with slightly labored breathing, curves begging for attention. Walt reached out, running the fingers of one hand along the boundary of the fabric, in toward Vic's breast bone where the catch of the flimsy garment was adorned with a small bow. He couldn't tear his eyes away, or his fingers, mesmerized by the contrasting textures of the lace and her skin beneath it.

After placing a lingering kiss at the corner of Walt's mouth, Vic surprised him by drawing back slightly, perched on his thighs. He had a spectacular view of her breasts in that red bra as well as her bare torso, tapering down to her shapely denim-covered legs. She smiled mischievously.

"I thought you should know that I've got some presents waiting for you, too. It only seemed fair, since you're wearing my gift."

She ran a finger down the line of buttons on his shirt, hooking it around and sliding it into the front of his jeans just behind the belt buckle. Walt struggled to keep his hips still, sinking into the opulent pool of sultry eye contact that accompanied Vic's actions. Her finger dipped lower, catching the waistband of the silky underwear and tugging it upward into plain sight.

"You better still be wearing these when you pick me up for our date, because I'm unwrapping you tonight."

Walt raised an eyebrow, one hand resting on his own solar plexus and the other gripping Vic's leg just above the knee. She was turning the tables on him now, teasing him and then making him wait. It had Walt lightheaded with desire, bursting with anticipation, and not only because of the throbbing hardness inside his pants.

He cleared his throat, gently squeezing her thigh. "Yes ma'am."

Vic fixed her ponytail, her raised arms and the elegant arch of her neck giving Walt one final matinee show from within that tantalizingly open shirt front before she gracefully removed herself from his lap and slid back into the driver's seat— a position Walt was now increasingly sure she'd been occupying all along.

**xxxxx**

_Surprise! Looks like Walt isn't the only one who wore his sexy undies today. Will things go smoothly for the rest of the afternoon so that these two can have a nice date and finally get to the good stuff? Hmm, I wonder. _

_Send me your thoughts, comments, likes/dislikes, abuse, jokes, theories, haikus, recipes, or whatever else you've got laying around that will fit into the review box! :D_


	6. Chapter 6

_This was meant to be the final installment, but I finally FINALLY had a bit of spare time today and this chapter kind of went its own way. So I let it do its thing! Don't worry, Walt's been *ahem* 'briefed' concerning his St Patrick's Day and Easter boxer shorts, so we'll try and get this story wrapped up before he has to start worrying about what sort of underwear Vic thinks are appropriate for Memorial Day. ;D_

_Still T rated here. Vic and Walt each receive a bit of advice. _

**xxxxx**

**The Heart of the Matter  
****Part VI**

"Beautiful flowers for a beautiful la—"

"What the _fuck_ Bob?!"

Vic's hand had gone for her weapon, and she realized that she might be just a bit more tightly wound than usual.

"Shit! Don't shoot the messenger, darlin'!"

"Why are you hiding down there? You been drinking again?"

"Now that's just plain unfair! I haven't had a single drink since I got out of jail and that's the God's honest truth. Walt would kill me for one thing, same as if I didn't make sure you got these flowers… he was rather specific on that particular matter."

Her left eyebrow dropped back into alignment with her right, and she tilted her head. "Walt sent me… flowers?"

The paperwork hadn't taken too long when all was said and done, and Walt had dropped her off at home so she could prepare for their date while he and Ferg went back out to the Rez to retrieve the Bronco. He would bring her truck back later, and little did he know that if Vic had her way they wouldn't be needing a vehicle again for quite a long while after that… she directed her attention back to Bob Barnes before her imagination ran away with her.

"He did." Bob had lifted himself up from his reclined position on her small front porch, where he had been hidden from view. "And I didn't lose the card this time." He presented the small white rectangle with an exaggerated flourish.

Vic held the envelope between her thumb and forefinger, looking at the box still cradled by Bob's left arm. "How long have you been here, anyway?"

Bob shrugged. "Couple hours. Wanted to make sure these got delivered, and you were the last drop off for my shift. Was sorta surprised when you weren't home, but I didn't think Walt would appreciate me going by the station all things considered."

"You're probably right." She fiddled with the envelope, a bit nervous to know what its contents had to offer. Walt didn't strike her as the hearts and flowers type, and yet here were the flowers and she already _knew_ where the hearts were hiding. Lost in thought, she almost failed to notice when Bob proffered the box toward her. Snapping back to awareness, she reached out and accepted the oblong parcel. "Umm, thanks."

Regarding her with a quizzical expression, Bob tilted his head to the side. "Can I say something without earning myself a smack?"

"Depends what you plan on saying."

"Reckon I can afford the risk." Bob paused, looking down at his feet. "Walt, he's one hell of a man. I'm sure you know that— he's helped me out an awful lot, and he's _been_ through even more. I just want to say… he smiles when he talks about you, and I haven't seen him do that with anyone else since Martha passed."

Vic was caught off her guard in more ways than one. "You… knew Martha?"

"Everybody knew Martha. And she made a point of knowing everybody, too. She was a special person, but sometimes even she had trouble pulling Walt out of those deep moods of his."

Releasing a mild snort, Vic felt one corner of her mouth tugging upward. "Who doesn't? The woman must have been a saint."

Bob shook his head, expression far away, perhaps traveling back to some moment in the past. "She wasn't. No person is— trust me, I'm a damn expert. But Martha really cared, and she gave it her all."

Once again Vic looked at the objects in her hands, concrete evidence of Walt's apparent affection for her. She swallowed hard, realizing that this delivery scared the hell out of her even more than the ill-intended floral gift she'd received from Ed Gorski. "How the hell am I ever supposed to measure up to that?"

"I wouldn't worry. You seem to do things your own way."

Strangely, there was something reassuring and pleasant about a genuine smile from Bob Barnes.

"Walt is a thinker, and it's plain to see he's been doing plenty of thinking about you. All I'm saying is, don't let it go to waste."

She nodded, feeling a bit weirded out by this candid conversation but also surprisingly humbled. "I won't."

Taking a step backwards, Bob turned to leave. Before he descended from the porch, he gave his parting shot. "If it doesn't work out, let me know. I am single, ready to mingle, and I still think you're pretty as a sunrise. That weren't the beer goggles talkin'."

Vic narrowed her eyes. "_Goodbye_, Bob."

"Alright, alright!"

Finally inside, Vic absently made her way to the kitchen and set the box on the counter to open it. Upon viewing the contents she gasped, feeling more sure than ever that Walt really knew her, had paid attention to every little thing about her.

She hated carnations (that was no secret) and although she appreciated the sentiment roses really weren't her thing (too boring and traditional). Her heart fluttered at the arrangement of bright daisies and Peruvian lilies, mostly reds and smooth darker pinks with splashes of creamy white… it was almost exactly the type of thing she would have chosen for herself. Reaching a hand out, she brushed her fingers over a single red rose almost hidden at the center of the arrangement.

Glad she was alone and that Bob Barnes had shown enough sense not to deliver these flowers to the station, Vic went a little misty-eyed when she read the card. It was so incredibly… _Walt, _and somehow utterly romantic at the same time:

_Vic, _

_I would have brought you wildflowers, but they're a bit scarce throughout the county in February. When spring comes, I hope we can go out and pick them together. _

_Walt_

For a long time, she stood there staring at the card. He had signed his name with a little heart next to it. With two innocuous sentences he'd expressed his wish that they would still be together months from now, shared hopes for their future, and then Walt Longmire had used one of his big, manly hands to thoughtfully and deliberately add an indisputable symbol of love to the message. Nothing fancy or florid; just an unadorned and unambiguous heart, carefully colored in with entirely innocent ink.

Vic knew then that she was lost, if she hadn't been completely aware of it before. After carefully tending to the flowers she whipped around the house to set the rest of her plans in motion…

**x**

He wasn't used to following orders, but he was determined to do his best on this very special occasion.

It had been too long since the youthful obedience of Walt's football days or the regimented line of discipline he'd towed in the Marines. When he began his career as a deputy it had been less that Lucian Connally gave orders, more that he issued vaguely good-natured threats. By that point in time, Walt had already had a few hard-scrabble lessons on how and when to take matters into his own hands, so he was suddenly spending a lot of time calling the shots for himself.

With Martha, it had been different. She never tried to tell him what to do, but when she disapproved of his actions or decisions there was sometimes that clever womanly edge of 'I would never tell you what to do, _but__…' _which all but screamed '…but you are 100% wrong and I will continue to remind you of this fact by cooking your least favorite foods for dinner every night until you admit it.'

Things had seemed so simple then, when he was able to judge the harmoniousness of his marriage based on the absence of lima beans on his plate.

Cady had come along, and perhaps she was the most successful at ordering him around— for a time, at least. She had Walt wrapped around her little finger when she was a young girl, as daughters and especially only children are known to do. From strictly enforced piggyback rides to the appropriation of frankly outrageous amounts of cash used to purchase the latest pink plastic abomination for her dolls to utilize toward their vacuous and anatomically incorrect purposes, Cady pretty much had his number from the time she'd learned to walk. Still did on occasion, but as an adult she was generally mature enough not to take advantage.

Victoria Moretti was another story altogether. Walt had found himself strangely inclined to let her be the boss of him, and not only earlier this afternoon at the speed trap where she'd undeniably been in charge. No, his willingness to let Vic push him around involved far more than just another chance to steam up the truck's windows.

Maybe it was because there were some aspects of law enforcement where her training far exceeded his own, or perhaps it was the instinctive knowledge she'd gained as the only sister of four tough Philadelphia brothers. Vic had been through some rough patches in life, like he had, and in some ways those experiences might have been worse for her because she didn't have the support of an understanding spouse the way he did. Walt tried not to frown as he thought of Sean and the numerous ways the other man simply hadn't measured up.

Yet in spite of it all, Vic had arrived in Durant with what probably read as a slightly threatening air of authority for some, but at times just made Walt want to follow her around like a puppy dog. He'd been lost for so long after Martha's death, maybe he had needed that— needed someone who wasn't afraid to take the lead and possibly kick his ass a few times along the way.

His new deputy had been willing to provide all the kicking he could handle, whether he was ready for it or not. Somehow Vic had busted her way through all his barriers, snuck into his heart and become one of the best friends he'd ever had, and more recently turned his brain completely inside out with the depraved assortment of things he wanted to do both to her and with her.

Now, when he thought about taking Vic's orders, even the ones that didn't include underwear, it got his synapses firing in eighty million different directions until he wasn't sure which way was up. In point of fact, he was no longer certain he even cared. Maybe right now not knowing which way was up was more or less equitable to not being sure who was going to end up on top, and Walt had a nagging suspicion that they were likely to take turns.

Orders were one thing, but advice was something else. Although he'd received a lot of advice through the course of his life, most of it unsolicited, Walt would freely admit that he'd ignored about three-quarters of it. The small proportion of offered wisdom that received consideration generally came out of Henry's mouth, and maybe that's why Walt had stopped to see his friend at the Red Pony on his way back from the Rez.

It somehow seemed appropriate for Henry to be the first person Walt told directly about the change in his relationship with Vic. At least, Walt had thought so, until it became clear that a rather smug and smiling Henry had already known. Apparently he had been broadcasting. Henry assured him that since the channel in question was Radio Walt, the transmission range was highly limited. Henry's receiver was appropriately tuned, of course.

They had talked, in a casual way that they really hadn't done in far too many months, and Walt confided in Henry about his feelings and his date with Vic and the fact that he had absolutely no earthly idea what he was doing. Either he was going to blow it, she was going to eat him alive, or potentially both.

Henry's counsel had been surprising, and in some ways quite opposite of what Walt himself had thought or planned. It was valuable to hear his trusted friend's perspective on Vic and what was likely to please her. Henry assured Walt that he should listen to his instincts and not get hung up on traditions or societal dating norms, a concept which apparently had the rug pulled out from under it a good couple decades ago. Walt supposed he should have clued in that things were different these days after Lizzie Ambrose thought a 911 call was an acceptable way to set up a date. Admittedly, he'd been a bit distracted at the time.

Armed with Henry's advice and what could only be classified as 'provisions,' Walt had headed off to finish preparing for his 8pm arrival at Vic's. On his way out the swinging doors, he was halted momentarily by Henry's familiar smooth tones.

"Walt?"

He turned his head slightly. "Yep?"

"I am happy for you."

"Thanks, Henry." A smile passed over Walt's lips, likely suspected by Henry but ultimately kept as a cherished secret between Walt and the weathered wood in front of him. Taking his leave, he felt a renewed confidence and an unexpected sense of excitement building in the pit of his stomach.

He had his orders. He was armed with advice. Now he was ready to seize the day.

**xxxxx**

_More soon! I'm working seven days this week but fortunately that does mean some shifts are a bit shorter than others. With any luck I'll catch another rainy one and get a few steps closer to finishing this! Hope you're all still enjoying it— I hear some out there have had snow today, so it should be easy to pretend it's still February!_

_Do drop me a line and let me know what you think, and what Henry might have told Walt! :D_


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